My thoughts are stars I can't fathom into constellations — John Green

Posts tagged ‘Set Blasters to Stigma’

On The Proverbial Closets

So since the regular world is about a week behind the Internet, I had a conversation with my boss today about the preacher who said gays should be fenced up.

I’ve been thinking lately about anonymity and my lack thereof. A friend just began blogging away from her pseudonym. I’ve had issues with my thoughts being ill-received in the past.
I tend to not think about it, as it’s easier to pretend I don’t need to keep my online life separate from, say, my work life. Today I was reminded how careful I need to be.
And how much that pisses me off.
A bit of background: I work in not quite the middle of nowhere, but we’re about 10 miles from the middle of town. It’s about 5 seconds from where I went to high school. It’s not so bad, but we definitely get more than our fair share of overalls.
So last night, one of my managers was talking to me about how she’s seen a lot of people talking about racism and “gays” on Facebook recently. So she starts talking about her opinions on some pretty touchy subjects. I started feeling awkward because I didn’t think there was anything I could add to the conversation.


Meanwhile in Crazytown…

I’m sure we’re all aware of all the crazy that’s been cropping up recently.
Electric fences and death sentences for homosexuals.
Amateur snake-wranglers not learning from their father’s mistakes.

As I’ve grown more comfortable in myself and found more labels I actually like and want to use, I keep wondering where the line is drawn? I’ve never slept with someone of the same gender, but I’ve thought about it. What are the criteria for this? I want to go up to the bigots and ask. Ask where I fall on their scales of acceptability. If nothing more, maybe a completely (well, mostly) normal looking person showing up and trying to figure it out would tip them off that there is so much more of this than they can see. Nothing is even remotely close to binary here. These are the toughest questions and we read do not need to only get yes or no as answers.


A Big Ol’ Dumb

In the interest of being Completely Open, this is your warning. This will not be a happy post, but I am making it anyway. I do not want to talk about my headspace, but I am doing it anyway.

Confession: I’ve been avoiding the writing and the feeling and the doing.

The new dose is clearly off. Since I’ve been taking the 20mg pills, I’ve gotten worse. I’ve tried to get in touch with my doctor, but the receptionist hasn’t returned my calls. I know something isn’t quite right, but I can hardly muster the Give A Damn to do something about it. I haven’t stopped taking them because we haven’t gone over what can happen if you just stop, I’m not familiar with the side effects. And while I could probably very easily google them, here’s the kicker…

I’m comfortable like this. 

This is how I am used to functioning. Not functioning, that is. This is charted territory. I have a little butt impression in the seat of melancholy.

But I’m restless. The whole point is that I don’t want this. And I know, logically, it can’t be an overnight fix, but I will admit that the main reason I went on medication in the first place was I needed to pass for acceptable for long enough to get Better. I knew it wouldn’t happen but I thought it could hold me over for long enough to get some serious fixing done. It did, even. I felt a good bit better on the smaller dose. I was still having some symptoms, but I was getting back to a place where I could see the light at the end of the tunnel. Where I knew what the next step was. Where I could see myself being all right in the proverbial future. 

And the first day of the higher dose, I had a moment of panic and epiphany and absolute shock in a way I can’t remember ever having before. I work as a cashier at a retail pharmacy and generally work is at best, not stimulating in any way. I went to work the first day of the higher dose and I was handling things. I didn’t have to try every second. I thought, “Oh. Oh my god. Is this what everyone feels like?” And I thought it was going to keep being like that. I told my parents how I was doing, the first formal update they’d gotten since I informed them of my appointment. They were proud I was getting the help I needed. They were surprised I had seen such a change, they didn’t know I was ever that bad.